


I Don't Need You Doesn't Mean I Don't Want You

by lynnearlington



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-09
Updated: 2011-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnearlington/pseuds/lynnearlington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana's really sick of not getting picked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Need You Doesn't Mean I Don't Want You

**Author's Note:**

> Slight spoilers for 2x12.

Santana’s really sick of not getting picked. If she wasn’t already well aware of just how awesome she is, she’d start to think something was wrong with her. Seriously. There is something messed up about a world in which she’s all alone on Valentine’s Day watching her best friend mack on her boyfriend and the rest of glee practically cream all over themselves for each other. 

But this is  _not_  about Brittany. 

Okay, well. It’s not  _all_  about Brittany. 

It’s about being on the bottom of the pyramid. It’s about Puck. It’s about Quinn. It’s even a little about Finn. It’s about stupid Rachel Berry running her big mouth. 

Maybe she deserves it. A small part of her, buried under pride and feigned indifference, acknowledges this. She can even accept it on some level. She gets why Puck left, why Quinn hates her, why Finn’s a dumb oaf who can’t make up his mind. What she can’t understand, no matter how hard she tries, is Brittany. 

In a contest between Santana Lopez and Artie Abrams, Artie should not be winning this easily. She’s losing to a fucking crippled geek loser for fuck’s sake. 

It’s truly telling to how far she’s fallen. 

Whatever, it doesn’t matter. What doesn’t kill her will make her stronger and if this school year is any indication to the rest of it, she’s going to be fucking beast by the time she graduates. 

So tonight, on Valentine’s Day, she’s fine with her box of mint chocolates and the  _Sleepless in Seattle_  marathon on TV. She would never admit this in public, but she can never get enough of that stupid movie. 

She must fall asleep because the clock is blinking 12:07 when the sound of the doorbell shoots her awake. Wiping grogginess out of her eyes, she shoves the open box of chocolates off her chest, along with the remote and makes her way through the dark living room towards her front door. 

From the looks of the rest of her house, her parents haven’t come home from their date yet. To be honest, she doesn’t really expect them back that night at all. Whatever, it’s probably for the best. 

Maybe she should be a little more concerned about what kind of shady character would be ringing her doorbell at midnight, but her brain is still half asleep and she’s already pulling the door open before she can think about it. 

Thank God the shady character is just Brittany, standing on her doormat smiling brightly and holding a huge stuffed teddy bear. Well, she doesn’t actually get a good look at Brittany right away because her friend practically flies over the threshold, grabbing Santana around the neck with one arm and pulling her into a tight hug. 

Still trying to get her brain unfogged from her impromptu nap, Santana sputters a little against the mouthful of blonde hair she’s assaulted with as Brittany continues to hug her. Finally, Brittany steps away, teddy bear hanging from one hand and smiling at Santana like it’s totally normal to come over after midnight and tackle her. 

“Hey,” Santana croaks, squinting at her porch light and moving aside to let her friend in. 

Brittany skips past and flips the foyer lights on, twirling and thrusting the stuffed animal in her arms towards Santana. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” 

Grabbing the teddy bear, Santana turns it over in her hands, staring at it, confused. “Where did you get this?” 

“The teddy bear store,” Brittany exclaims, practically bouncing. Santana wonders if Artie’s aware of the  _don’t give Brittany sugar after dinner_  rule. 

“There’s a teddy bear store?” Santana glances at Brittany as she walks, teddy bear in hand, back to the living room, flipping on the lights and sitting back down on the couch. Tom Hanks is on the TV screen, pacing on top of the Empire State Building. Santana hates this part of the movie. 

“Yeah,” Brittany says, nodding as she sits down next to Santana. “At the mall. It’s so awesome. They have every kind of teddy bear you could ever imagine. I wanted to get you this other one that was kind of bigger and stuff, but I didn’t have enough money.” 

Santana laughs, looking at the smaller, brown teddy bear with a red and white bow tie in her hands. “This one is fine.” 

“Good,” Brittany replies, nodding once sharply. 

“What are you doing here?” Santana asks, the late time suddenly occurring to her. “Shouldn’t you be with Artie?” 

Brittany tilts her head a little to the side, but her expression remains bright, a soft upward curve to her lips. “I was. We went to this really nice dinner and Artie paid and everything, and he got me roses, and chocolates, and it was just like in the movies.” 

“Sounds awesome,” Santana drawls, sarcasm dripping off her tone. 

As always, sarcasm flies right over Brittany’s head. “I know, right?” 

Santana sighs. “So why are you here?” 

Confusion flashes across Brittany’s face. “Well, it’s Valentine’s Day.” 

“Yes,” Santana says, speaking slowly. “That’s my point.” 

Brittany looks around, like the answer is hidden somewhere on the walls of Santana’s living room. “You’re my best friend.” 

“You’re supposed to spend Valentine’s Day with your  _boyfriend_ ,” Santana explains, close to laughing. She’d find it a lot more amusing in general if she weren’t so stupidly relieved that Brittany’s here and not with Artie. 

“Who says?” 

Santana shrugs, not really having an answer for that. “I don’t know, everyone?” 

Lips pursed, Brittany shakes her head, skeptical. “I don’t think so.” 

“Valentine’s Day,” Santana tries, “is about love and romance and spending it with your significant other or whatever.” 

Brittany still doesn’t look convinced, but she shrugs, “I already did that. And now I want to spend it with you.” 

“Okay...” 

“I mean, I love you too,” Brittany says honestly. “So it’s still okay.” 

“You’re dating Artie,” Santana reminds her, barely managing to stop her eyeroll. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t still love you.” 

“Brittany,” Santana sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Valentine’s Day is about love, right? Well, I love you. You’re my best friend and I want to spend it with you. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.” 

That explanation just makes Santana mad. Glaring at Brittany, her jaw clenches. “I’m not some fucking charity case,” she bites out. 

“Santana,” Brittany says quietly. “That’s not what I meant.” 

“I’m fine by myself, you know. I can handle being alone. I’m not some weakling Rachel Berry that needs someone in her life to feel like it’s worth something.” She says the words, but they feel hollow and empty as they hang in the air. Yeah, she considers herself independent and self-reliant, but even these past few months of growing apart from Brittany have squeezed a part of her heart she’d rather not admit exists. 

“Just because I’m dating Artie,” Brittany replies, “doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you too. You’re my best friend and that doesn’t change because of some stupid boy.” 

It’s dumb, how much Santana’s entire being curls around those words, but they warm something in her gut she can’t deny and she finds herself fighting against giving into Brittany, against allowing herself to feel something. 

“You’re my best friend too,” Santana lets out, practically a whisper. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch lately.” 

Brittany leans forward a little as if she’s about to divulge a deep, dark secret to the emptiness of the Lopez living room. “You’re kind of always a bitch.” 

A sharp, quick laugh bursts out of Santana. “Thanks, Britt.” 

Brittany chuckles a little. “Don’t worry, it’s kind of hot. And it’s  _you._ ” 

Santana shakes her head a little, looking away. “I don’t think everyone feels the same way.” 

“That’s okay,” Brittany says. “They don’t understand.” 

“I guess not,” Santana agrees, heat stinging a little behind her eyes. 

“When I said I love you, I meant always,” Brittany says, soft and firm. “Even when you’re being a giant meanie to everyone and even when I’m dating some guy.” 

Brittany shifts forward and wraps both her arms around Santana’s neck, pulling their bodies in together until her face is pressed into the warm fabric at Brittany’s shoulder. The hug knocks the wind out of her, but she doesn’t push away, just let’s herself sink into it. Exhaling through her nose, Santana smiles the first real smile she’s had in days as she finally gives into the words and lets herself believe what Brittany’s saying. 

“Thanks,” she whispers, pulling away a little and smiling softly. 

Brittany shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders up once. “It’s true.” 

“Ditto,” Santana confesses quietly, unable to make eye contact. 

Laughing a little, Brittany punches Santana’s shoulder lightly and when she turns, Brittany’s nose is scrunched up adorably, a happy smile stretched over her lips. 

Leaning back into the couch, she puts her new teddy bear next to her and grabs the remote for the TV, turning the volume up a little. “You want to watch  _Sleepless in Seattle_?” 

Brittany looks at the screen. “It’s the end,” she complains, pouting a little. Brittany loves the movie about as much as Santana. They used to watch it as kids over and over again. She’s probably the only person in the world that knows about Santana’s secret soft spot for sappy romantic movies. 

“They’re playing another one after,” Santana offers. 

Blue eyes brighten. “Yeah?” 

“Yup,” Santana confirms. 

Brittany flops back next to Santana and moves around on the cushions to get comfortable. She ends up with her head on Santana’s shoulder, legs spread out over the rest of the couch. “Awesome,” she breathes. 

Santana’s eyes flutter closed a little bit and her couch suddenly feels infinitely more comfortable than before. “Yeah,” she agrees. “It is.”


End file.
